Mélusine (43 page)

"Let's start down the stairs," von Heber said. "No haste, but no loitering."

"Something's going on," the hireling said.

"Brilliant, Bernard. He"—with a jerk of the head in my direction—"says Mildmay may be in trouble."

"How shocking," said Bernard.

We'd made one full circuit of the tower when Gideon caught up with us. "We'd better be quick," he said. "Thaddeus knows something strange is going on. And I must admit, that's all I know. Felix?"

"I'm not sure. I may be wrong. I hope I'm wrong."

"Wrong about what?" said von Heber.

"I don't see why it would have been activated," I said. "The Cabal cast that warding curse on the Mirador itself, and it shouldn't—"

And then we heard the noise. It wasn't a scream, but it was more than just the harsh breathing of someone in pain.

"What's that?" said Bernard.

"I think you weren't wrong," von Heber said to me. "Where is he?"

Like a hurt animal, Mildmay had sought out a hiding place. We found that one of the doors off the stairwell was ajar. We went through it, von Heber and Gideon calling witchlights. For a moment, the shadows seemed to be watching us with tiny glowing eyes, but I said the words
morbid sensitivity
to myself like a talisman, and the hallucinations receded.

We found ourselves in a warren of tiny rooms; I knew the configuration of walls had to have some thaumaturgie significance, although I could not read it myself. Mildmay was curled in the far corner of the second room we came to, shaking as if he had an ague.

"What's wrong with him?" Bernard said.

"It's a curse," I said. "But I don't understand—"

"Bernard, shut the door," von Heber said. "We'd better not move him, and I don't think we want anyone else walking in. Now. Explain this curse to me."

I took a deep breath, hoping that I could stay lucid, hoping that they could understand what I could not. "Mildmay murdered the Witchfinder Extraordinary three years ago. I saw the Mirador's curse on him, and since that curse is designed to kill and Cerberus's killer is the only person who has ever escaped it…"

"Yes, I see," von Heber said. "But then what is this?"

"I don't know. I mean, I
do
know. It's the curse. But I don't understand what set it off, and I don't understand why it isn't working."

"He's still alive."

There was an uncomfortable, unsettled pause before Gideon said, "Since most of the Mirador's spells are either broken or monstrously weakened at this point, I don't find that beyond explanation. My question is, what are we going to do?"

"We have to help him," I said.

Gideon gave me a politely disbelieving look. "Did I misunderstand you when you said he murdered a wizard?"

"No, but—"

"I have need of him," von Heber said.

"Gideon, please," I said. "I can't let him die."

"Why not?" Gideon said. "What is this farouche murderer to you?"

"My brother."

"Whose existence you were not aware of two days ago. Your fraternal concern is touching but overdone."

"Damn it, Gideon, are you saying we should stand here and watch him die?"

"Kethe! Just kill me and get it over with!"

We all jumped; none of us had imagined Mildmay was still coherent. But he raised his head, his eyes the lurid green of absinthe against his chalk-white face. He said, "I did for Cerberus Cresset, sure enough, so if you want me dead for it, go ahead and—" He broke off, bowing his head and I saw the spasm tear through him. When he could speak again, he said weakly, "This is gonna take hours."

"I think you have a choice, Messire Thraxios," von Heber said. "Either help us, or go inform the Cabalines upstairs—"

"You can't!" I said. "Gideon,
please
. You said you'd help me."

The look he gave me was like being, stabbed. "I did not realize what your definition of 'help' would entail."

"Then go on," I said, looking away from Gideon. "Go tell Stephen that you've found Cerberus Cresset's murderer. He will doubtless greet you like a long-lost brother, and I imagine you will be able to name any reward you like."

There was a long moment in which the only noise was Mildmay's rasping, panting breath. Then Gideon said, "No."

We all stared at him; even Mildmay's head came up a little. Gideon looked embarrassed but unbudging. "I didn't listen to you once, and that turned out to be a nearly fatal mistake. I don't feel inclined to make
that
mistake a second time. I shall make a new one instead. What do you intend to do?"

I discovered von Heber was looking at me, too. "I don't know," I said.

"But we've never understood what happened."

Gideon shrugged. "So ask."

"Ask?"

"He's right here. Ask him."

"Oh." I could feel my face heat. I went down on one knee. "Mildmay, do you know why the curse didn't kill you when you… that is, when Cerberus died?"

"Miriam had a thing," he said, his words harsh and slurred and barely comprehensible.

"A 'thing'?"

"Yeah. Little wooden box. She said, don't open it, and I didn't."

"And what did it do?"

"Dunno. She said, keep it in your pocket. 'Til you're out of the Mirador. And I did. And the curse didn't get me. 'Til now." He stopped, going rigid against another convulsion.

"Oh," I said, straightening up again. "That's brilliant."

"What's brilliant?" Gideon said.

"I didn't think there was anyone in the Lower City capable of working that kind of magic. This wizard—Miriam—she constructed a decoy."

"Explain," said von Heber.

"When Cerberus Cresset died, Mildmay should have died with him—more accurately, Mildmay should have died before he was able to kill Cerberus. It's a protection spell, part of the
quid pro quo
the Cabal used to get their reforms enacted. But that little box must have been the vehicle for a spell that deflected the protective spell."

"Then I don't understand," Gideon said. "Why is he… ?"

"There's a second tier of spells," I said. "I don't think it was supposed to work this way, since I don't think anyone ever imagined it was possible to evade the protection spell, but there are warding spells on the Mirador itself. The decoy must have been able to hold those spells off long enough for him to get out of the Mirador again—"

"Miriam said, don't waste time," Mildmay said in a gasp.

"Exactly, but it couldn't get rid of them. The spell on
Cerberus
ceased to function when he died, but the spells on the Mirador are—" I stopped, my own guilt threatening to choke me.

"All but destroyed," Gideon said.

"And that explains why Mildmay's still alive," I said, forcing myself to keep thinking, keep reasoning. "The curse can't be operating at more than a quarter of its original power. But I still don't understand what set it off."

"What?" I said.

"The Lord Protector," he said, and I could see the effort it cost him to make the words comprehensible.

I started laughing; I couldn't help it, although von Heber and Gideon both looked rather alarmed. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry. It's just that—oh, Stephen will hate this—he's become a metonymy."

"What on earth do you mean?" Gideon said.

I took a deep breath; I could see it now, clear as day. "The assorted thaumaturgie cataclysms have resulted in the Mirador's warding spells being focused on the Lord Protector. I don't know when it would have happened or if we would have noticed if anyone had thought to look There are lots of things about the Cabal's spells that we don't understand and since Stephen is annemer… So, at the moment and for thaumaturgie purposes, Stephen
is
the Mirador."

Both Gideon and von Heber were silent, rapt in contemplation of the thing's marvelous idiocy.

"What are you going to do?" said the practical Bernard.

"We can't lift the curse," I said. "That would take a full assemblage of the Curia, and even if we had them here, they wouldn't do it. But maybe…"

"Maybe what?" said Gideon.

"Maybe we could put Miriam's spell back together. I understand what she did, I think, and I… oh."

"What's the matter?" von Heber said. "You've gone white as a sheet."

"The interdict," Gideon said.

"I can't do magic anyway," I said. "I'm useless."

"Tell us what to do," Gideon said. "We are both competent."

"It's not that. It's going to take a Cabaline—"

"Miriam wasn't," Mildmay said, panting.

"No, but…" I didn't know how to explain what I saw, the writhing snarling blackness around him. "There's no leverage otherwise."

Gideon and von Heber looked at each other. "Thaddeus," Gideon said thoughtfully. "Peter, Ferdinand, Victoria, Chloë, Gethruda. I suppose Chloë
might
do it."

Somewhere in the middle of his list, the answer hit me. I said in a thin, distant voice, "No. He'll die while you're arguing with them. We have to use the other way."

"
What
other way?" Gideon said.

"I—"

Mildmay spasmed again, swearing viciously; I caught a glimpse of his face, white and contorted in a snarl of pain, the scar like a bolt of lightning. I said in a rush, "You can use me."

"But we just established that the interdict—" Gideon began.

I cut him off; I had to get the words out before my fear closed off my throat. "It's what Malkar did. If Robert could use it, I'm sure you can. The interdict's on me, not on my magic."

"That made about as much sense as a mud pie," said Bernard.

But Gideon and von Heber both understood. I looked away from the horror and pity in their faces and said, "We'll need a token."

Gideon said, "But shouldn't we try—"

"We don't have time." I could see the briars getting thicker and blacker and more vicious. "Please. Don't argue with me."

"What kind of token?" von Heber said prosaically.

I looked again at Mildmay, the lashing briars around him, the tornado colors clouding the air. "Glass would be best, but wood would do in a pinch. No clay and no stone. And it needs to be something small enough to carry."

Von Heber and Gideon began rummaging through their pockets.

"Oh, powers," said Bernard in disgust. He stalked away into the maze of little rooms. After a moment, we heard the sound of breaking glass, and Bernard returned with a triangular shard from one of the windows. "You'll want to do something about the edges."

"Thank you," von Heber said, and I took the shard.

"Do you understand what needs to be done?" I said to von Heber and Gideon.

"You want to use that piece of glass as an umbrella," Gideon said. "Do you really think it will work?"

"I don't know. But… None of the others will help him. You know that."

"Yes," Gideon said reluctantly. "But I have to ask: do you
really
want to do this? Do you know what it's going to do to you?"

"I have an educated guess," I said, and I knew the smile on my face was ghastly. "
Do it."

Gideon looked sidelong at von Heber, who shook his head. "My understanding of Cabaline magic hardly rates the use of the label 'theoretical.' I understand what he wants, but I don't have the faintest idea how to do it."

"I'm not sure I do, either," Gideon said, "but I have committed myself to this foolhardy venture. Felix, I think it might help if you were touching him."

"Oh," I said. "All right." I knelt again, my left hand carefully cradling the shard of glass. I braced myself and reached through the briars to touch Mildmay's shoulder. He was rigid as a board; I said over my shoulder to Gideon, "Hurry!"

Mildmay

The pain was like dragons chewing on my bones. I couldn't scream, because there were all them hocuses upstairs, and I was trying not to thrash out from under Felix's hand, but, Kethe, it seemed like being dead would be easier and quicker and maybe the best thing anyway.

And, I mean, I deserved it. I'd killed Cerberus Cresset. I could see him again now, his self-important face, his tattooed hands clutching at the knife in his chest. I could see he was hurt and surprised and not ready. And it was my fault. Maybe he'd deserved to die and maybe he hadn't, but I was the one had done it. And he wasn't the only one. The rest of them were there, too, standing around me, Cornell Teverius and Griselda Kilkenny and Bartimus Cawley and Lucastus the Weaver and all the others. I guessed they were hoping to see me die, and I hoped they'd feel like they'd got their money's worth out of it, because it seemed to me like I was going to die any minute now, and whatever crazy thing the hocuses were trying was just not gonna take. My heart was beating too fast, way too fast, and the cramps and the spasms had me all knotted up like a pretzel, and now I couldn't've screamed anyway, because everything in my chest had turned into lead, and the weight was going to crush my ribs, and that was going to be the end of Mildmay the Fox right there.

And then the pain faded and was gone. Just like that. I mean, I ached all over like somebody'd been beating me with sticks, but that was okay. I just kind of lay there, staring at the ceiling and being amazed that I wasn't dead, and then Mavortian said, "Well, it seems as if we don't need to worry about sharp edges."